


La chaleur de l'après-midi

by treesandtruce



Series: La chaleur de l'après-midi [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Afternoon, Autumn, Baberoe, Fluff, Home, M/M, October, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 13:08:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treesandtruce/pseuds/treesandtruce
Summary: He slowly took the steps one by one, in no rush. The afternoon heat made him feel like he had all the time on the earth, wasn't in a hurry. Hurried by nothing.Dust danced in the warm sunlight, where it broke through the glass of the windows.





	La chaleur de l'après-midi

**Author's Note:**

> A fan-fiction entirely based on the TV series Band Of Brothers!

Staring at the white ceiling, Babe Heffron thought in his favourite thinking position. He had slung one arm across his waist, having one leg slightly pulled up. His other wrist dangled over the edge of the matress.  
Summer hadn't want to leave this year. It was October and mother nature still didn't want to have mercy on him.Too hot to breathe. Too hot, too hot. He stretched his neck but stopped motion with that. He had thought that maybe, maybe a short nap would make the heat more bearable. That was, if he could have slept in the first place. 

First, he had tried every position, had tried the other side of the bed for once, tried turning the pillows around. But now he had given up, layed on the smooth white sheets. He swallowed harshly and breath unsteadily.  
He didn't want to think. He didn't need to think about Julian. He didn't need to think about Bastogne. He didn't need to think about Eugene in Bastogne. He didn't need to think about Bill. He didn't _want_  to think. Still, he did.

He grinded his teeth together, quickly spinning his head to his left. Perhaps he would find distraction in his hand. He looked at his palm. He had held a gun, he had held snow, he had held onto a parachute and sometimes, he dearly had held onto his sanity. He closed it slightly, the joints of his fingers coming into sight.  
Suddenly, that seemed really stressfull. He let his hand relax. The clock on the bedside table showed 5.38pm. But as much as he concentrated on the clockhand, the feeling wouldn't disappear, so Babe shot up right and stared at the door for a milisecond, then swung his legs over the bedframe to sit up. His lightblue and grey squared pyjama trousers stretching over his knees. Why was he wearing them again?  
The window, that the bed stood unterneath, held white see-through curtains.  
He barefooted through the left ajar door.

He rested his hand on the brightly polished handrail that led him downstairs in a straight line. No beating around the bush. Straight down.  
He slowly took the steps one by one, in no rush. The afternoon heat made him feel like he had all the time on the earth, wasn't in a hurry. Hurried by nothing.  
He liked the sleekness of the handrail, so he didn't take off his hand until the last second, let it linger a little longer, looking around the open area.  
Dust danced in the warm sunlight, where it broke through the glass of the windows. To his right, the side, where his hand had just slipped off the shiny wood, was a little table holding a telephone, a bundle of letters and photographs.  
Framed photos, showing smiling faces of people he loved.  
At the very front was the one of him and Gene, his favourite one. It held them both in their uniforms, Babe himself grinning like a very dorky idiot, Gene showing his rare smile. The only photo that had him smile it. It was cherished deeply. Babe reached out to get hold of the frame nearer the wall. Bill on his crouches, Babe in the middle and Toye on the other side. It was in Philadelphia. Frances, Bill's wife, had taken it at their home. It had been a wonderful autumn. Eugene had visited him.  
Babe smiled and turned the frame. 'Autumn 1946' it said.  
Babe rested his weight on his right foot, taking the third and last photo from the table. The frame contained two photos. One of Eugene and his family and one of Babe's. They hadn't yet met eachother.  
Babe let go of the frame, brushed a little dusted of the telephone, his lips pursing a little. He knew that it had been used more often before. Before..

Babe kept on his way to the kitchen. He took two glasses off of the highest cupboard and placed them in front of him on the worktop.  
He took them one after the other and filled them with water from the water tap. While he turned around, he caught an eyefull of outside. He debated, whether he wanted to look out of the window or actually leave the house. But the dirt on the glass disposed him to go out.  
He made his way, unhurriedly, to the backdoor that was oriented to the northwest, just like the veranda that followed. For a second, he wanted to steady himself on the wall but remembered the filled glasses. Then he wanted to change his shoes and realized that he didn't wear any anyways. The wood turned warm too quickly under the heat of his feet.  
He pushed the screen door out of the way and slipped through the gap, not wanting to let any mosquitos in. The door did such a good job on keeping them out.

It was a good choice to go outside, instead of watching from behind a window.  
Golden orange light soaked the world and filled all the spaces. At least Babe's world. It was this rare lighting, that didn't exist unless you had seen it yourself. It was magical.  
As lovely as the light was, it was still heavily humid and warm. But the afternoon heat had something. Or evening heat.  
Babe was glad that the veranda was adjusted to the northwest. It made the moment- magical. There was no other word. Peaceful. Similar to an old summer movie. Babe wanted to die here.  
Luckily, a breeze got caught in his trousers, made them flutter in a slow haste. They swayed around his legs, so did the white t-shirt around the short sleeves and the seam. For a little, Babe considered closing his eyes. Then again, he wouldn't want to miss anything.  
He looked a little further, to the other side of the river. The birch's yellow leaves rustled in it. In this moment - how quickly they could change - Babe was fullfilled. His chest felt loose and he had wanted to switch places with one of the trees, letting his leaves rustle. Away from fears, but not away from here.  
The shadows on the river were long and the house threw one almost to the other side. The beloved veranda was built from dark wood and contained two white chairs.Often, Babe leaned on the handrail that stopped for the stairs, when he couldn't sleep and felt too much for one single man to bear. He was happy that he had it. 

He could see the two white chairs from the corner of his eye. The large chairs, put under the canopy.  
The chairs that he often sat in, sometimes on the stairs, but usually in the chairs. The chairs that had a gap after each panel of wood on the backrest. The backrest that had too much space for one back. Providentially.  
They didn't make contrast against the white built house. White, so it would reflect the sun, prevent it from overheating. It didn't do much, did it?  
He turned his gaze back to the river, still holding the two glasses. He almost didn't notice him hopping up the few stairs.

"Babe."

 _He_  was what could make this moment better. A tree wouldn't have the affection.  
Babe held out one glass.

"Thank you." He heard and felt a ginger kiss of lips on his cheek. He turned his face, so his cheek rested against the other one's.  
"Tu vas bien?"

He nodded, resting his hand on a warm hip. He knew what it meant. Had heard it often enough to understand.  
Babe smiled tiredly, his heavy lids sliding closed.  
He smelled the earth from the river being taken to him by the wind.  
A hand carefully ran up his arm. It wasn't the whole hand, just fingertips. It tickled, but he liked it. He liked it a lot.  
Babe felt the hand move along his ribcage, coming to a standstill on his shoulder blade.  
His heart felt lighter, a lot lighter.

"Je t'aime. Je t'ai toujours aimé." Just a low spoken assurance. But it meant the world.

"I love you." Babe spoke against Gene's cheek.  

He was nudged lightly by the nose.  
He smilled, the wind got caught in his hair. He pressed a kiss against Gene's jaw.  
Soon enough, he was pulled forward to the small stairs. Babe sat down on the second one from above. He set his glass of water down next to him, but far enough away, so that he wouldn't knock it over.  
With the other one he tugged at the shirt that Gene wore.                                         Sometimes, Babe still couldn't believe what the Doc looked like without his uniform. A lot softer, more like home.  
Gene sat down next to Babe, just one step further up.  
Babe rested his elbows behind him, stretching his legs, wind cooling his feet a little.  
His eyes remained on Eugene for a little longer.  
He, different from Babe, had pulled his knees further up and leaned forward to put his underarms on his knees. He looked out to the river. Babe was lucky. He was the luckiest of the lucky. From all the things that could have been taken from him, Gene wasn't taken. Never would he risk it.  
His heart had picked up speed, as it always did when he sat with Gene. When he knew he only had to reach out, when he wasn't even one arm's lenght away.

He opened his mouth to say something. But what, he didn't know. But he wasn't able to look away from Gene either. His skin glowed. So did his hair, rich of dark colour.  
The wind picked up and blew said hair up a little. It had grown longer, enough to lose one's hand in it.  
Suddenly, Gene turned his head just a little to look at Babe with a smile.  
Crickets started to clitter further down in the fields and by the river.  
Babe reached out, brushing his fingers over Eugene's cheek. In return, he closed his eyes. Babe scooted closer, laying his palm on the skin underneath it. He felt Gene laying his head in Babe's hand. He stroked his thumb across his face.  
Babe let go for just a second, resting his weight on his elbow and brought up the other hand to run it through Gene's hair.  
He still smiled, still had his eyes closed.


End file.
